2015 Mathew Mihelcic Poetry Award
Weak Bones
by Caitlin Wolper
notches line my ribs like faults
inside a snowy
ashtray; i even sing in
smoke rings.
— has anyone counted my
ticks
and breaks
to get a fuller picture?
where are bone-white
bedposts cut and counted with
reminder, laced with
promise, pink, where does
heavy love dribble off
the afghan your nana
knitted you? how do we
close gaps
without needles?
my lungs are static,
cut-coronary crippled, netted
together with pine needles and
twigs. i am old fire and new tinder, but
ash cannot form a second blaze.
instead, it swelters.
our neighbors smell me smoking
from afternoons away.
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